


Frenzied Gray

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Fluff, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Shower Sex, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine in New York after a day of nothing going right. <b><a href="http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com/post/35276644250/fic-frenzied-gray">Reblog on Tumblr!</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Frenzied Gray

November tends to be one of the more fickle months of the year. Tonight’s one of those nights that Blaine likes to describe as a frenzied gray, snow too wet to be pristine and subway cars passing in a metallic blur, with clouds stretching above and tucking into every visible corner of the sky. Countless, murmuring conversations fade into white noise as Blaine holds his own space on the train, staring at his reflection in the window, past the scratched surface and into his own eyes, a tired replica of himself whose colors bleed into the passing walls of the tunnel.  
  
 _Tomorrow will be better_ , he assures himself, dropping a dollar in the open hat of a young woman strumming her guitar in the station, the autumnal colors of her various scarves clashing with the brighter streaks of her hair. He stares at the backdrop of people, the crowd nearly monochromatic in grays and browns, then reaches in his wallet for another five to add when he imagines a certain reaction to the musician’s ensemble.  
  
 _“Yes, of_ course _I love scarves. But this also means that I find their misuse to be that much more of a travesty, Blaine! Magenta and teal green? Is she_ trying _to look like a watermelon?”_  
  
Blaine’s keys jangle on his way to the mail room, individual boxes rattling more still as he struggles with a sticky lock. He glances over his shoulder before offering further encouragement in the form of a successful whack delivered by the heel of his palm, a wry grin slowly tugging at his lips as he sorts through the pile of letters and nudges at the steps with his toes as he climbs the stairs. There aren’t many surprises — a frustrating set of bills that still refuse to come in through email, a litany of store credit card offers that Blaine usually talks Kurt down from — but after a long day of class and frenzied travel between NYU buildings, the two thin envelopes from Columbia and Fordham Law add a further weight to Blaine’s shoulders. Waitlisted twice, with no word yet from NYU.  
  
It’s just one of those days.  
  
“Hey, honey,” Blaine calls out as he enters the apartment, loosening the navy scarf wrapped his neck and brushing his shoes neatly against the doormat. “Sorry I’m back late; traffic was awful, and by the time I got to the station I figured there was no point in texting—”  
  
Suddenly, he frowns, sniffing at the air and stepping forward in concern.  
  
“Is something burning?”  
  
As if on cue, Kurt emerges from the kitchen, chest heaving with every breath and a noticeable quiver in his lip. It doesn’t take long to see why — even with an apron tied neatly around his waist, Kurt’s outfit is covered in any number of stains and spills, Blaine’s discerning eye catching hints of burnt sugar and cinnamon. And unless Kurt’s managed to go prematurely gray in the span of a day, the sudden flecks of white in his hair are likely some combination of bleached flour and powdered sugar, a small smear also lingering on the tip of Kurt’s nose.  
  
Even while clearly on the verge of tears, Blaine can’t help but think that Kurt looks perfectly  _delectable_.  
  
Doing his best to suppress a laugh, Blaine steps forward quickly to hide the widening grin on his face, arms sliding around Kurt’s waist and tugging until Kurt leans forward to nestle his nose underneath the line of Blaine’s jaw.  
  
“You’re cold,” Kurt complains, valiantly trying to keep his voice even.  
  
“Which is why you’re helping me to fix that right now,” Blaine replies, sighing in relief when Kurt’s arms raise to loop over his shoulders and wrapping his own more tightly around Kurt still, one hand lifting to scratch comfortingly between Kurt’s shoulder blades. “Had a run-in with the oven, I assume?”  
  
“I just… I’ve had a really long day,” Kurt mumbles, voice muffled against the side of Blaine’s neck. “I slept through my alarm this morning, managed to miss every single train on the way to work by mere  _seconds_ , and I didn’t check the weather this morning, so of course I wasn’t dressed for the snow and I managed to practically ruin my new pair of Red Wings. It was mostly editing articles, so I had my chance to decompress later in the morning, but of course a few minutes before I planned on skipping out, Isabelle stops by my office and begs a favor of me—”  
  
Biting down on his lower lip, Blaine pulls a tiny fraction out of the embrace, only to feel Kurt latch on more tightly still. Carefully, he starts to rock the both of them back and forth, still running his hand steadily up and down Kurt’s back as he subtly nudges the both of them further back in the direction of their dining table.  
  
“—and you know how Isabelle is; she’ll just give you this  _look_ , and suddenly it’s literally impossible to say no to her.”  
  
Blaine grins and nods. “I believe I’m pretty familiar with that concept,” he remarks, lifting his hand further to tease at the base of Kurt’s hairline.  
  
“But I never use that look to keep someone in the office,” argues Kurt, lower lip jutting out in a pout.  
  
With a dip of his chin, Blaine presses a quick peck to the bow of Kurt’s lips. “To be fair, you probably would if you had me working for you. Or any direct reports, for that matter.”  
  
“Quiet, you,” Kurt says, wrinkling his nose with a brief wiggle of his hips. “Look, all I know is that after spending a good  _five hours_  extra in the office to help her manage that inbox of hers, I just wanted to come home, relax, try out that pumpkin spice latte cheesecake recipe that I’ve been meaning to attempt, but less than five minutes in, I dropped cream cheese on the floor, accidentally leaned in too close to the dry mix — and, you know, cinnamon — that I  _sneezed_  into it, and I probably should have given up then but I  _really_ , really wanted cheesecake—”  
  
Blaine nods, letting out a small chuckle.  
  
“—and on the second try, it looked  _gorgeous_  in the oven, so I figured I’d try making candied salted caramel accents to go on top, but then I burned the sugar and didn’t pull the cake out in time and I’m just…  _Blaine_ , stop laughing!” With a huff, Kurt smacks Blaine square in the chest.  
  
Undeterred, Blaine lets his gaze trail over Kurt’s face, taking in the flush of his cheeks and the smattering of freckles brought out by the color before leaning in to lick the powder off of Kurt’s nose.  
  
Kurt lets out an undignified squawk before dissolving into giggles.  
  
“Oh, good, it’s sugar,” remarks Blaine with a wide smile, encouraged by Kurt’s laughter. “For a second, I thought I might end up with a tongue covered in raw flour.”  
  
“The fact that you still can’t tell the difference makes me wonder if we shouldn’t raise the cookie baking quota,” sighs Kurt, glancing down when he feels his calves bump against the leg of a chair and reluctantly disentangling himself, sliding to a seat with aplomb. “Twice a year clearly isn’t enough.”  
  
“Let me work on getting into law school, then we’ll talk,” says Blaine, smile fading as he slumps into his own chair, the pile of letters finally dropping onto the. Biting down on his lips, Blaine rubs at the back of his neck, a few curls slipping free of the gel.  
  
Kurt reaches out, hand crossing the table to rest in silent inquiry against the crook of Blaine’s elbow, his own frustrations momentarily forgotten. “…did you hear back from another school today?”  
  
“No,” Blaine replies with a shake of his head, sliding his arm until hand meets hand and letting his thumb brush over the line of Kurt’s knuckles, over the smooth warmth of a ring. “Just received the official hard copies of my waitlisted statuses at Columbia and Fordham.”  
  
Closing his eyes briefly, Kurt tilts his head in turn, words cautious, as though feeling out the tension in the room. “You realize that the vast majority of acceptances won’t have heard back at this point, right? They’re still on Early Decision applicants — you’ve still got a great chance of getting in.”  
  
Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand reassuringly, a sigh still slipping free. “Kurt, let’s not—”  
  
“I’m just saying!”  
  
Lifting his chin, Blaine allows his gaze to settle fully on Kurt once more, skirting up to the flour still caught in thick strands of hair, then down to the dusting of cinnamon as it clashes against an otherwise clean lavender shirt, once perfect creases rumpled after the day’s efforts. His own shoulders ache from lugging around too many books from class to class, his toes feel like they’re still struggling to wake, and even his eyes feel halfway lulled to sleep as they burn at the corners.  
  
In spite of all of that, staring at Kurt pulls a broad smile to his face.  
  
“I know. But what  _I’m_  saying,” he says in an undertone, getting to his feet and lifting up their joined hands, “is that I would rather spend the night helping you clean up.” Blaine arches a brow suggestively, suddenly pleased when he hears Kurt inhale, quick and sharp.  
  
“…well, I can’t say no to that.”  
  
Letting out a pleased hum, Blaine tugs Kurt closer, leaning in to brush his nose against the curve of Kurt’s cheek as Blaine’s free hand trails along the line of Kurt’s spine, up and down in a tease, dragging against fabric. While careful to keep his breathing shallow, Blaine still catches the scent of cinnamon lingering on Kurt’s skin, spicy hot. A quick fleck of his tongue against Kurt’s jaw quickly deepens into a tease of teeth against skin as Blaine sucks at Kurt’s pulse point, feeling his own blood race as they start to step towards the bathroom.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, breath stuttering between his lips and hips jerking forward, arching his body to press flush against Blaine’s and sensing the shift of every step. “ _God_ , I’m glad you’re home.”  
  
“I’m glad you were here to come home to,” Blaine whispers in return, voice pitched low as he traces along the length of Kurt’s arm, the touch feather-light and skimming over the curve of Kurt’s shoulder. Only when Blaine’s fingers weave through the thick strands of Kurt’s hair does he feel something inside himself snap, worn from the tumult of the day. He hears Kurt’s breath hitch as his free hand winds around to grab at Kurt’s ass, kneading through denim before he surges forward on impulse, teasing the full curve of Kurt’s lower lip.  
  
Kurt holds silent, but the moment is anything but, a clash of breath and the soft, reluctant whimper caught in Kurt’s throat as they stumble to the bathroom, impatient and stuttering. Brushing a hand up the inner seam along Kurt’s thigh, Blaine arches a brow in amusement as Kurt scrambles to close the door softly behind them, any attempt at quiet ruined when Blaine pushes Kurt roughly against the wood, earning a bright gasp.  
  
“Feisty,” Kurt breathes in surprise, but Blaine feels the approving smile which accompanies the remark as he slots their lips fully, eager hands catching in cloth before the measured, halting tug of apron strings, and a whisper of fabric as it meets the tiled floor. Only seconds later, he feels the pressure of Kurt’s palms against his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of Blaine’s cardigan like the sort of schoolboy he was fifteen years ago, like he was doing this for the very first time again, only the conviction of breath giving him away.  
  
“This is new,” remarks Kurt, plucking at the sweater.  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
“You went shopping without me?”  
  
A shock of cold spreads down Blaine’s front as Kurt sneaks out from between his arms, pupils already dark and blown, lips pretty and pink. It’s the colors that Blaine catches on, so much that he doesn’t notice the door behind him until the soft thud of shoulder blade to wood, gasping when Kurt takes a hand to press along the line of Blaine’s cock, the pressure clear even through his slacks.  
  
“ _Kurt_.”  
  
“At least I can tell that you chose it yourself,” Kurt mutters, words nearly a threat as they ghost against Blaine’s jaw, teeth scraping as Kurt grabs at Blaine’s wrist, guiding it to the hem of his shirt. “Makes the thought a little easier to bear, though I am  _definitely_  taking you shopping this weekend. Now, clothes off — don’t make me say it twice.”  
  
They don’t say another word, offering little more than the occasional clack of teeth and stifled laughter as need and desperation turn back the clock. Teenagers again, marveling at the thrum of bare skin as steam starts to rise from the beating water.  
  
Blaine enjoys the water more than most else, torn between feeling it slip against his lips or watching as it draws lines down Kurt’s body — never where he expects, always new. He chases a drop as it slides down Kurt’s chest, flicking at the tip of a hardened nipple before sucking at the planes of Kurt’s abdomen, grinning wickedly at the sight of hands gripping helplessly at the tiled wall behind them.  
  
“Tease,” Kurt accuses, voice keening as he drops a thumb down to press along the curve of Blaine’s mouth, slipping briefly between plush lips before pulling back and settling over the barest hint of a dimple.  
  
“Mm-mm. I fully intend to finish the job.”  
  
Even with control wound tight around his fingers, somewhere Blaine feels warmth brimming, overwhelming as it spills over in his chest. Blinking away water that clings to his lashes, Blaine’s touch is careful as his palm presses Kurt tightly against the wall and leans in to wrap Kurt in tight heat, tongue pressed flat before tracing along the slit of Kurt’s cock. The fingers that tighten and tug at his hair offer a heady rush, and Blaine hastens his pace to keep up with the heightening moans falling from Kurt’s lips. If he’s unraveling, then the pair of them are surely doing so in tandem, Blaine sucking harder until he feels Kurt’s fingers fumbling by the hollow of his cheeks, and he bats playfully at them before wrapping his palm around the base of Kurt’s cock and twisting slowly, sinuously.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Blaine, ah—”  
  
Another sharp tug at the strands of Blaine’s hair has him pulling back slightly, still insistent and kissing down the length of Kurt’s cock until he reaches the darker skin of Kurt’s sac, tongue circling and sucking softly. He can hear steady panting through the spray of the water, enough to have Blaine achingly hard as he focuses instead on Kurt’s dick, palm wrapped around it and squeezing tightly as he slides to the tip. Kurt squirms slightly, shuddering as his hips tilt forward.  
  
Blaine swears that the world shifts around them, and when he raises his gaze, it’s to a question circling in Kurt’s eyes, bright and desperate with jarring nerves.  
  
“Always,” he breathes, not even sure that Kurt can hear, but something clicks into place nonetheless as Blaine’s lashes fall just in time for Kurt to unravel, spilling hot and streaking over Blaine’s cheeks.  
  
Kurt’s hands slip down to Blaine’s shoulders as he comes, fingers digging against muscle and lips parted in a silent cry; Blaine runs a hand smoothly over Kurt’s thigh, feeling the quiver and break of strength before he stands, vision erupting in sudden sparks as he captures Kurt’s lips in a kiss, the touch formed into pliant comfort. His face still feels warm, a heated slide warring with the faster, cool trickle of water, and when Kurt’s eyes blink open, they trace along the lines — first with a gaze, then a brush of fingertips.  
  
“I love you,” Kurt murmurs, cutting through the streaks before trailing come along the curve of Blaine’s lip, watching Blaine chase the touch with a swipe of his tongue. Kurt groans, pressing his finger further until he feels Blaine suck around the tip, breathing suddenly harsh. “Not fair,” he whispers, leaning in to chase after the taste, sharp teeth worrying Blaine’s lower lip.  
  
“It’s not fair that you get to wreck me like this.”  
  
“You’re not one to talk,” Blaine retorts, hands splayed wide and following the trail of water before resting at Kurt’s thighs, turning Kurt’s body around before pressing them together as Blaine’s hips snap forward. Head swimming at the sudden contrast of sharp friction and glide, Blaine weaves himself around and holds Kurt close, supporting limbs both heavy and sated while pressing the pair of them skin to skin wherever possible. A possessive touch.  
  
Or perhaps something beyond that.  
  
“You still smell sweet,” mumbles Blaine, his breathing uneven and erratic as his hips continue to snap forward, and an especially deep thrust between Kurt’s legs leaves both of them gasping, Kurt’s arm raising to press in a line across tile, the surface cold to the touch.  
  
Blaine sweeps a hand up and over Kurt’s chest, fingertip swirling around a peaked nipple before pinching — Kurt drives his hips back in reflex, the both of them starting to find a rhythm as Blaine drops his free hand to grab at Kurt’s ass, kneading hungrily and scraping his teeth against the skin of Kurt’s shoulder.  
  
“Honey,” breathes Kurt, soft whimpers slipping off his tongue as he peeks over his shoulder, finding Blaine’s forehead pressed to the base of his neck. “Blaine, my arm’s starting to hurt, can we—”  
  
Stepping around and careful not to slip on running water, Blaine watches Kurt come forward with lidded eyes, one hand dropping to wrap around his dick and jerking fast. With a hesitant growl low in his throat, Blaine’s head starts to hang heavy, every muscle feeling drawn tight and hips nudging forward instinctively, but only a few seconds pass before he feels a softer touch dropping around his wrist.  
  
“Let me.”  
  
Everything registers a little less, senses filtered through a haze. He feels hot  _everywhere_ , but the distinct press of a splayed hand or the glide of a tongue just translates into that heat, the pounding water and Kurt’s moans melt into a soft thrum, and all he can focus on is the tight wrap of Kurt’s hand, the pull gliding a little too unevenly for the lack of lube, but enough.  _Too much_. Blaine cries out at a particularly tight squeeze, shuddering in turn when Kurt swipes a thumb over the tip of his cock, and his hands scramble to wrap around Kurt’s back before hooking onto his shoulders, seeking balance as Blaine buries his face against the side of Kurt’s neck.  
  
“Kurt, I’m gonna —  _fuck_ , I’m—”  
  
With a low, halting moan, Blaine thrusts desperately into the circle of Kurt’s hand, spilling all over his fingers and streaking over Kurt’s thighs. The grip of his hands tightens momentarily before relaxing, only a fraction, when Kurt wraps an arm fast around Blaine’s waist, his other still pressed between their bodies to work at Blaine until he lets out a slight hiss.  
  
“Good?” Kurt asks with clear cheek.  
  
“Mmmrgh.”  
  
He lets Kurt tend to him for the rest of the shower, the glide of suds and hands over his skin just enough to lull him closer to sleep, while the travel of Blaine’s own hands over Kurt’s body and through wet strands of hair sparks enough interest to keep him alert. They share more kisses, an aching familiarity to each — lips slotting, or pressed soft against a shoulder, the chest, the back of a neck and tingling over an old birthmark.  
  
When they step out of the shower, that same familiarity lingers, their lives falling back into place. Though they welcome change, some areas aren’t worth the effort. Kurt still brushes the corner of his towel over the mirror before the steam in the room dissipates; Blaine knows he’ll have to wipe it down later, ridding it of the watermarks left behind. Blaine still forgets to put the toilet seat down, less of a concern when it’s just the two of them, but a must, Kurt says, in case of a surprise guest. As they towel one another off, both men start to laugh, barely a second’s hesitation between the two of them.  
  
“Are you thinking—”  
  
“That we forgot to grab our robes first?” Kurt nods with pursed lips, rubbing cream into the hollows of his cheeks, trying in vain to keep his smile from widening.  
  
Wrapping his arms briefly around Kurt’s waist, Blaine offers a squeeze before pulling back. “We could book it to the bedroom.”  
  
“You’re on.”  
  
Blaine isn’t sure what it is. Routine seems too tired of a word for the rustle of sheets as both of them slip underneath. Habit, too unyielding. There’s much of the same that repeats in the day by day, similar to how the color of the November sky isn’t always distinguishable from one day to the next, and the brighter points of their days will only start to fade in time. As he wraps his arms around Kurt from behind, the arch of their backs aligning, but the tangle of their legs anything but, Blaine marvels at how much he can treasure the moment, even knowing that in years, he might forget all of it — save for the lingering warmth that nestles in his chest.  
  
But if that’s what the cost of forever is, it’s a good one to pay.  
  
The sky darkens before they break apart at last, Kurt groaning as he stretches, back arching with all the laziness of a cat. “So,” he breathes, letting out a small sigh as his arms cross under his head. “When you said you wanted to spend the night helping me clean up…”  
  
Snorting, Blaine wrinkles his nose, trying to nudge it against the line of Kurt’s jaw, but his coaxing proves fruitless as Kurt raises a brow in warning, peach pink lips pursed in plea. “Fine, fine,” laughs Blaine, shivering as he lifts his corner of the sheets. “I’ll go wash the dishes.”  
  
Kurt punches a fist in the air in triumph, sliding slightly out from under the covers, exposing enough skin that Blaine feels an instant twinge of regret. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” says Kurt, catching Blaine’s expression, a coy shoulder drawn up and eyes still bright through the dim lighting.  
  
Leaning forward, Blaine slips his fingers over Kurt’s jaw and down to the point of his chin, tugging him forward and sealing off Kurt’s words with a kiss. “That’s a promise I intend to have you keep.”


End file.
